


to binge

by bonniebarko



Category: Breaking Bad
Genre: F/M, Fucked Up, Heroin, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:02:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26206873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bonniebarko/pseuds/bonniebarko
Summary: if we're never togetherif i'm never back againwell, i swear to God that i'll love you forever
Relationships: Jane Margolis/Jesse Pinkman
Comments: 3
Kudos: 10





	to binge

**Author's Note:**

> this'll probably be the only fic i ever write that has that mature rating, 'cause tbh i usually just write straight up porn but you know, jesse pinkman's whole captivity arc kinda resonated with me. i'm like 75% sure i'll write more breaking bad stuff, but if i don't here's my stream of conscious on jesse bruce pinkman
> 
> the implied non-con is like one line, but besides that i still think this fic is kinda fucked up and not in a sexual way. i came a long way from my hamilton bdsm fics from when i was 12 to writing about inner struggles and turmoil and other gay shit. i could make this a lot worse, especially for the breaking bad fandom which LOVES non-con--y'all need help--but here. okay i'm done bye

_"Well, what did you think was going to happen?"_

_"I guess... I dunno. I guess I thought... somehow, things could be different. Things coulda turned out better for me. That probably sounds really stupid--"_

_"It does--"_

_"Well shut up! 'It does.' It's not like you tried to make things any better. It's not like you ever talked to me, about what this could mean for me. You... You lured me in with all these fake promises, and these fucking lies... I coulda been anything! But instead... instead I became you. And I'll never forgive you for that."_

_The nights were usually cold in the mesa, at least in the summer, when the sun receded behind the puffy, bubbling clouds and the moon peaked out between the stars. The clouds brought the breeze and the breeze brought the bugs--mosquitoes, mainly, but sometimes gnats, and sometimes spiders. Big spiders, too, with their fuzzy legs and plump bodies, large enough to spread across your palm. They weren't bothered by the temperature, at least it didn't seem like it. Rather, it seemed like they enjoyed the darkness._

_He blamed the temperature for why he was shivering, why every bone in his body seemed to rattle like a branch in a storm, why his skin grew flakey and drooped with every passing thought. He felt decayed, he felt like a corpse, still standing in front of the great Heisenberg, like a wandering ghost still looking to be reconciled. His eyes were wide, the starry twilight dusting the top of his head with light like fallen snow. And those irises--those irises in the center of his portrait--they were still glistening blue, like a summer sky. In fact, it was the only thing he had that was still alive._

_"Whoever I was... Whoever I could've been..." he grasped at his clothed arm, the tears on his pale skin still leaking blood, "They're gone. Dead. Dead as shit, because of you, and all because of you. Don't you dare forget it!"_

_"You're angry. You're being irrational."_

_"Why won't you just let me hate you?" he croaked, his eyes growing watery, his knees growing weaker. "Why do you have to have the last word? Why can't I just be right for once?"_

_A pitiful expression crossed his face. Snot leaked from his nostrils and down his lips as his tears followed, trickling like rain droplets down a window pane. His lips were parted, eyebrows furrowed, that deep life ingrained in his eyes never faltering. It was the only thing about him that stood strong, that look in his eyes. His hand, the one grasping at his arm, now dripped blood as it ran his skin soft and full. The tips of his sneakers were dipped in the scarlet dew, illuminated by the moon overhead._

_"Jesse, trust me. I did you a favor."_

_"You didn't do me shit!" He screamed it, shaking the nearby bushes of their birds. Falling to his knees, that desperate look in his eye still pointed to his mentor, he snarled, "I had an out! I had a way out! And you took it from me! I'm stuck with you!"_

_"Just calm down."_

_He realized then that, even if he screamed forever, he'd never understand. He'd never grasp what he truly did to him._

_And there still was a batch to be made._

"Up and at 'em, boy. She's not gonna cook 'erself." That calm darkness, that serene night air washed away. All that replaced it was the bleached New Mexican sunlight, peaking through the bars of the concrete cell. It was too bright to see who was calling him, but it didn't sound like Todd and it definitely didn't sound like Jack. It must've been one of the other goons, with their faceless bodies and meaningless names. It could've been anyone and it would've made no difference to Jesse.

He groaned into the towel he was resting on, still easing himself out of his dream. When he wasn't moving fast enough, the captor overhead rattled the bars, sending a shiver down his spine. Noises seemed so much louder now. Everything gets louder when you're deprived like that, he figured. It almost felt like his ear drums had grown more swollen during his stay at the camp, shaking on the inside of his head like a rock in a bucket. Bing, bing, bing, like a pinball machine hitting each and every button inside his head. It was Hell.

"Aye, you listenin'? I said up and at 'em!" he shouted again, kicking at the bars. Jesse was mostly awake at that point, besides from the usual brain fog and drowsiness that just seemed to follow him around most days. "Damn junkie."

An older version of himself might've talked back, said something clever, might even have called him a bitch and flipped him the bird, but that version of himself was gone now. Somehow he'd find it again. He had it in him, at least, to start digging. Maybe if he started today, he could finally remember the guy he used to--

Crack. The sound of the bullwhip against the bars. It shook his enclosure, pushing him to his feet. He stood cowardly, shaking, his eyes still not adjusted to the sunlight. It stung his eyes like lemon on his tongue. The silhouette of the cage door being opened cut through the suffocating light, the bullwhip still hung overhead. The man, whoever he was, was alone--pretty common for the wake-up call, all things considered--but still, his unfamiliarity rubbed Jesse the wrong way. At least with Todd, he knew the scars would be coming from the direct line of command.

Down came the extension ladder, the cold steel heated only by the tart sunlight, Jesse no more than two feet away from its base. He wasn't allowed to start climbing until a captor said so, and he definitely wasn't allowed to touch it until it fully descended. Somehow, the sound of the base of the ladder hitting the concrete was louder than the bullwhip, but he digressed. He looked up at the man, waiting for his signal. Instead, he only saw a disgusted look on his face, his eyes crinkled like aluminum foil.

"Well, whattya waiting for, junkie? Get to it!" He gripped the bull whip again, hitting it against the bars once more. This wasn't like the other days, no sir, this was different. Something different in the schedule. Usually he was up at the crack of dawn. Now it felt like he was climbing the ladder at noon, the way the sun was shining overhead. The man barely gave him room to exit the box, with his shackles and all. He was already sweating.

Don't speak unless spoken to, and when spoken to, don't speak. It was the complete opposite of how he faced high school. Before, if any form of authority even shot a glance at him, he'd make a snarky comment. He'd spit in their face. He'd call his lady teachers cunts and his guy teachers faggots, and at the end of the day he wouldn't bat an eye. Respect never passed his vocabulary, much less obedience, but now it was the only thing he could still maintain. One wrong look and he'd get a new tiger stripe on his neck. One wrong stare and he'd be blind.

The walk to the cookhouse was longer that day than before, on account of the sun and the heat, and the gun pulled on him at all times, just in case he decided to book it. It made him sweat like hell, his overgrown hair greased to the top of his forehead like ivy on a brick wall. He hadn't shaved in, oh, maybe three months? Summer was starting, he was sure of it, even if he didn't know the day or the month or the time. It smelled like summer, with the blades of grass and the smoke of cooking. He couldn't describe it, other than it smelled green and alive, yet at the same time metallic. A farce. Maybe this would be the last time he'd ever think about it.

He was brought back to reality when he heard the cable attached to his back. It was the 87th time he felt it. 87th, on the dot. He counted. It was a real shame that he didn't know what day the first clip was on, because then he could actually keep count of the days passing by. It was also a shame that he had trouble remembering what months had thirty days and which ones had thirty-one. Of course, there was also February, which threw the rest for a loop and only had--

"Tonight's another Binge Night. Thought you should know." The man was smiling behind him--he could feel it. He also could feel a flick on the back of his neck, sending a shiver down his back. Across the room was the photo on the wall, but it might as well been faceless. He didn't know the woman in it as much as he didn't know himself. She was with a man that didn't exist anymore. It'd be real sweet if she even remembered him. Andrea. Andrea... What was it then? Her last name. He couldn't have forgotten it by now.

What was it? He racked his brain, the beakers in front of him fading to glass and to snow, the metal shavings in his hand as good as dust. Her last name. It was so frail to him, he felt that if he thought of it for long enough, it'd shatter to pieces. Andrea. Oh, Andrea. Had it really been that long? Or had the nights really been that hard for him? He stirred the Erlenmeyer flask, the chemicals bubbling to a warm calm, the ideas in his head crackling like fireworks. Andrea. He sneaked a quick look at her photo. Her last name.

"Did you hear me? Binge Night. First Saturday of the month, after all." The man was turning to leave, his well-groomed facial hair bouncing as he moved. He was outwardly cheery for such a shitty day.

"...What time?"

He surprised himself, to be honest, the way he spoke. It was uncommon for him, especially this early, to say something to a captor, much less a question. He sort of wished that it would be lost to the wind.

"What time for what?"

"What time... tonight?" He let the question hang in the air, his frail hands shaking against the table. "When do I have to start packing up?"

"...They'll want you by ten." He smirked, tipping his hat as he exited. "I wish good luck to you, boy. Not many would be so chipper."

Jesse rolled his eyes as he heard the door close, the lab empty. Binge Night. It only took a few seconds before the door opened again, and Todd appeared in the doorway, so calm and well-kept. He had a soft smile on his tanned face, contrasted by the metal of the walls and the harshness of the wire. He walked slowly, yet smoothly, and caught Jesse by surprise as he was preparing the methylamine. He nearly jumped out of his cracked, molting skin.

Todd put his hands up, easing him with a chilled smile. "Hey, buddy. Late start, huh?"

Jesse didn't know what he was rattling on about, but he still kept an ear open as he continued to cook. Todd was the only one of his captors who he could have a conversation with and not risk getting clobbered on sight. Whether or not the conversations were really worth while was anybody's guess, but it was better than nothing, he supposed. "...What time is it?"

Todd looked up to the ceiling, pursing his lips as he thought. "Ah, I'd say about one, one-thirty. You usually start at, er... six o' clock, right?" He cocked his head to the side, his eyes narrow and his smile still contained. "Nobody came 'round to check on you?"

"Usually you wake me up, don't you?" Jesse narrowed his eyes, laying the barrel's weight on his shoulder so he could pour it into the basin easier. It strained his entire body, his voice cracking under the tensity. When he was done, he lowered it to the floor and wiped his brow.

"I was busy today. 'Had to make a few trips. Uncle Jack likes a specific kind of whiskey, and I can only get it cross town--'Says it keeps him focused, whatever that means. He's really into whiskey, more than you'd think." No, I have a pretty good idea. "When I was younger, like, when I was a little kid, he'd used to have shot contests with my dad and he'd always win. Shot after shot after shot. He even offered me one, too, when I was in grade school, and I didn't really want it, but that was the first time I got drunk, 'cause then I started to take shot after shot after--"

It really wasn't better than nothing. Listening to him, that is. It was hell, and it was a sweaty hell, too, since nobody had bothered to turn the AC on since the start of the day. The lab was practically cooking the fat off his bones, or whatever remained of it. He'd lost more than enough weight, especially since he wasn't very stocky to begin with, and his hair had started to fall out in clumps, although it was getting more matted and thick than ever. Where was this facial hair when he needed it in high school? It took him months to grow a goatee, and even then Anthony from third period called it a pube-stache, so it wasn't even worth it.

Jesse took the gamble and decided to interrupt him from his rambling. "The guy in here before you said I had to wrap up by ten. You know it takes me two days straight to, like, fully finish a batch."

"Why te--" His voice trailed off as he scratched his head, lost in thought. "Hey, you know, Binge Night's just for the guys. I don't really do that stuff a lot, except for that one time, and I don't even think you remember that." He was so calm about the entire situation, and while it was true that Jesse rarely remembered their escapades on those particular nights, he had a pretty good idea as to what was happening. After all, they were the only nights they allowed him to drink, and drink he did.

He shook his head. "I get it, I get it." He would've asked him to leave, but Todd seemed to have made himself comfortable sitting on the table, being a nuisance as always. It was so domineering, basically having another fly hanging around the workspace, except this fly was packing heat on his waistband, and when the fly pulled out a cigarette to smoke, Jesse wasn't allowed to comment.

It was ten before he knew it, and he didn't even fully realize until one of Jack's goons came down to get him. The temperature that day had risen well over a hundred, and Jesse was definitely feeling, the sweat dripping from his brow and between his thighs like rain drops. Heat usually made him sweat like a pig--one of the main reasons he wore baggy clothing, for the ventilation--but today he could feel his hair stick to his head.

Whenever someone came down to investigate the lab or catch him for Binge Night, he always felt so inferior. They were usually well-groomed, clothing tarnished but in a clever or a rustic way, the smell of aftershave wafting through the air. It almost seemed like they cleaned themselves up better when they had to deal with him, teasing him with the idea of taking a shower. A shower. Besides the fire hose and the occasional water bucket, Jesse hadn't showered in a few months, or at least since the beginning of his capture. He probably reeked like hell, but he wouldn't be able to notice at that point, nor would he even really care.

He was feeling rather brave when one of the captors was unbuckling him from his harness, his leash. "Hey, so... you guys got a shower here? Like, one I could use?" He heard the guy scoff behind him, but he continued. "I don't think it's a real good idea to have a dirty junkie messing with your product."

"Take it up with the boss." When Jesse turned to allow the captor to shackle him, he saw him smile, a gold cap on the man's tooth shimmering in the overhead light. "'Don't think he really minds. Your purity is Heisenberg level."

Heisenberg. He might as well as shot him in the head by comparing him to that guy. He could ponder the magnitude of how much he loathed what had happened to him, how he could be so stupid to fall for his games, but in the end, it wouldn't really matter. If he hadn't come along, Jesse was probably too stupid to resist someone else taking advantage of him. It was only a matter of time.

The worst part of the trek to the main building was leaving the lab, with the open air and the smell of smoke. It was freedom, despite his chains and shackles, and it was so far out of reach they might as well have left him in the cage. A few men were standing out by Todd's Chevrolet, smoking cigs and shooting the shit. When Jesse passed, their eyes averted, yet he could still see the smiles on their faces. So calm. That's the part he hated the worst--how calm everybody was. If only he was allowed to scream and shout and blow his brains out, show how calm he really was.

When they entered the house, Jack was smiling at him, but not the standard calm, domineering smile--a cold smile, a smile that hid something behind it. He was planning something and it made Jesse's skin crawl. Usually, he'd offer Jesse a drink and he'd be passed out for the night. Today, everyone seemed to have already helped themselves. He gulped and picked at the skin on his wrist. He seemed to be doing that a lot these days.

"Knees," the man said, raising his eyebrows.

He stared at him incredulously. "I'm not getting on my--"

"I said knees." Jesse looked around slowly, catching the glimpses of the other captors' faces, trying to read anything besides that goddamn calmness. Hesitantly, he lowered himself to the floor, the crackled wood planks definitely giving him splinters on the way down. He lowered his head, averting the eyes staring at him, pretending the beads of sweat rolling down his neck were because of the heat. "He's getting bold today, huh?" Jack said to nobody in particular, but mainly to the man standing behind Jesse, the one who led him to the main house.

"Barely got started on his batch, too."

Jack lowered himself slightly, only to reach eye level with Jesse. He cocked his eyebrow. "Is that so?" He tilted his head to the side, that cold smile returning again. "What was it? You were distracted?"

Jesse shook his head, his heart beating loudly in his chest, the sweat dripping down his lower back. "No. No, sir."

He glanced upward at the other captor, raising his eyebrows. "It's the picture, isn't it? Of the girl. She distracting you?"

"No!" He shook his head--too loud. He could feel their eyes growing sharper, more interested. "No. It's fine."

"Then what is it? You should be halfway done by now, at least." He voice trailed upward at the end, as if he were almost about to laugh. He rose back to his feet, shooting a glance at Jesse this time, watching him shake on his knees. "You know what you need, Jesse?" He hated how he said his name. He absolutely hated it. "You need to relax."

It wasn't what he expected. He looked upward at his captor, narrowing his eyes. There was a stillness in the air, bleeding with anticipation. "...What?"

Just as he said it, he felt himself forced to the floor from behind, a heavy, warm breath on the back of his neck. "He said you gotta relax, buddy," another one said with a smile, pinning his arms behind his back and securing his chains. Now restrained, panic filled Jesse's eyes as he thrashed, trying to get the Nazi off his back, clenching his jaw and widening his eyes.

"No! No! Stop--" A hand gripped snugly across his mouth, pulling his teeth back and nearly covering his nose. His screams were muffled as he squirmed about, the captor's heavy weight and arms pinning him to the floor. Quickly, he was tossed onto his back, his arms still locked behind him, and his mouth free to the air. "Fuck off! Get off me!"

One of them smiled down at him as they held his legs down to the floor. Jack came into view, smirking down at him as he readied a needle in his hand, sucking up a substance from a spoon on the pool table. The realization hit Jesse hard, and the second he fully registered what was happening, he thrashed as hard as he could, feeling blisters and scrapes forming on his arms behind him. "Stop. Stop, please. I can't go on it again. I can't go on it again," he repeated, locking eyes with Jack as tears formed in his eyes. "I'll never cook for you again, you bastard. I'll kill myself and you'll have nothing. Nothing! N--" Someone grabbed him from behind and pulled him into their chest, wrapping their hand around his mouth once again.

"Thanks. 'Thought I'd have to knock the sucker unconscious." He took the lit cigarette out of his mouth and passed it to one of his associates, narrowing his eyes as he held Jesse's shaking arm in his grip. "Can someone ready the belt?" When nobody moved nor stepped forward, he sighed and shook his head. "Jesus, I gotta do everything here myself." He gripped his arm more roughly and whipped the belt out from his lower abdomen, cigarette now budding out of the corner of his mouth.

Jesse continued to sob, his face growing red and hot. He started to shake his head wildly, tearing the man's hand away from his mouth. "I'll do anything. Please. I'll do anything. I'll cook all night. You don't have to do this." He watched as the belt was tied tightly around his upper arm, and he couldn't dare watch as Jack stabbed the needle into his vein. It wasn't a low dose--he could feel it from the pressure on his arm, the way it felt with... her.

Her.

He closed his eyes as tight as they'd go. He almost wished his eyelids curved in, blocking out the light, blocking out the moon. He wished by this total detachment from reality, he could remove himself from his current situation and journey somewhere else. Somewhere further. Somewhere familiar, a place he used to be but he would never return to. Again, he shut his eyes as tightly as he could, and he dreamed of her.

Her eyes, light as the sky and dark as dirt, wide and glistening into his own. He could see the ocean in them, and at the same time a meadow he once visited on a summer night while he slept. He saw every dream he ever had, and at the same time every dream he'd ever live through. Her lips, pursed and poignant, smiling and telling him everything he wanted to hear, and also everything he was too afraid to figure out by himself. How much he missed her. He could almost feel her in his arms again, smiling at him, feeling his chest like she was deciding where to plant her next kiss. If kisses were roses, his face were a garden, and he wished somehow that she'd make it a meadow.

A field of poppies! As far as the sky would go, as deep as the horizon's depths, it hung on the edge of his memory like a painting on the wall. The fucking Mona Lisa. Walking through it, feeling the petals and bulbs flutter between his palms, the rubber flesh of the flowers rubbing against his calves. Cold and clear, the breeze running through his hair, running through his skin, running through him, in fact. He stared up towards the sky--the great, big, beautiful blue sky--and took as much in as he could. The clouds had seemed to be on vacation that day, vanished from his sight. All he could see, besides the magnificent poppy field, was her. On his hand, was her own, intertwined with his fingers and curved around his palm. Those eyes, as red and orange as the field in front of her, cascaded like waterfalls down her face.

She wasn't crying because she was sad--quite the opposite. She had a smile on her face, a knowing smile, like she knew exactly why she was there, and exactly what was going to happen next. Her feet were planted firmly on the ground, even as they walked, and at the same time they were floating ten feet in the air. And just as her eyes grew wet and sloppy, her skin fell like a landslide, her body crumbling beside him.

She melted from view, and just as soon as she departed, a vignette grew over his poppy field, and just as he breathed one final breath of the pretty spring air, he vanished too.

The last thing Jesse saw before he fell unconscious was his hollow chest on the pool table, breathing softly underneath the harsh neon light, and someone unzipping their jeans.

He didn't have to think of what had happened that night, like what had happened many nights before. He silently knew, judging by the looks of the captors from that day forward and the way his entire body ached, the way he felt like he'd lost a battle he never even considered he could win. The track marks on his arm deepened with each passing day, and her eyes--the eyes that used to stay fresh in his mind--faded.

They had taken something from him. Even if he jumped the fence and left now, it wouldn't matter. He smiled up through his cage, back against the concrete and eyes to the sky. They made him their bitch, and he couldn't even muster up the strength to cry.

_"Is your arm feeling better now?"_

_They were in the Winnebago, probably half past three AM, the harsh winds from before dissipated and the night overwhelmed with an eerie quiet. Jesse was seated on the cooler, wrapping his forearm with gauze as tight as he could manage._

_"Yeah, no thanks to you."_

_"I'm sorry! The beaker slipped. If you were wearing your gloves in the workspace--"_

_"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Just forget about it."_

_Walt was across from him, seated on the cot he was going to be resting on for the next few days. He did have a sincere look of sympathy on his face, but Jesse wasn't stupid enough to fall for that farce, like he'd done a million times before. He just simply ignored it, like every other warning sign. That was the problem with the rose colored glasses he wore--every other red flag was just a flag._

_"Are you feeling calm now?" he asked slowly, concerned._

_He choked down a smartass comment, resisting the tears clouding in his eye. Jesse nodded._

_"I'm calm."_


End file.
